Travelers Welcome

Sunday, December 30, 2012

I love the interior of a place.
The world shut out
And everything closed in.
A building of pressure
Heating things up
Enabling me to blow off steam
After long nights beneath residual light
Haunting shady joints
Like a desolate loner
Searching for his soul,
Where life’s just a game
I happen to take seriously.

That salivating snout, weird
white eyes, that
grin no predator omits
even when starving, which he might well be. Just a
glimpse, in mirrors, in
windows in slant light,
paintings in bad light, countertops,
monitors. The head moves back and forth
and who are you to say
it’s a coyote or wolf, what do you know of
either? Native Americans made
the coyote the great ambiguous artist; they were
noble, of course, but not necessarily right: there’s no
trickery in those eyes, no
fun. The head moves,
dribbling, and you think, sentimentally,
of The Steppenwolf (but you’re flattering yourself,
aren’t you? that isn’t
you); then, more
maturely perhaps, of Beuys
communing with one for a week in a room
Midtown amid straw and piss – but
this one doesn’t
commune (and what makes you think
it’s a matter of culture, that these nervously grasped metonymies
help?). Sometimes not only
the head but the whole thing
trots (“slouches”) out of the frame
(he could be whining and you wouldn’t hear),
to reappear perhaps
to someone on a bus,
the subway, a bridge – as if what’s
behind there, where he is, has
no walls as well as no food, is a
loft as big as the metropolitan
area; as if space, not time, were the killer.

Hope when I die
I go to heaven
Not such much as that I deserve it
It is that I know
Citibank & Bank Of America
Have branches in hell
And Wells Fargo ATM’s
Are burning eternally with fees
I never want to deal
With them again
Let alone
Forever

pickles sweeter than the truth linger on your tongue
a constant reminder of her
she that you wish you could forget
the one that had a heart as black as your coffee -
she tore off the wings of all your dreams,
and choked you in the embrace of painful words that cut in
thick shards of glass you were surprised
didn't cut up the lining of her throat as they did your heart.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Should never shut up. With their mouths closed how could we write of the existence of souls? Yes, these entrances shrink all other entrances. How many times did Peter Pan come through Wendy’s door? If not for a window, what would’ve become of our beloved Romeo and Juliet? Where would Rapunzel let down her hair? What friends would our teenagers rely on to sneak out of the house? A window is an ideal womb: it allows one out into the world and then allows them to return. Even the mirror on the wall would say no other is so fair. There are reasons beyond beauty that history builds its home amongst the stained glass. No window is just a window. They are knights in translucent armor, brewers of love, instruments of rebels.

Lassie can talk, but only under
the spell of a boy’s chin bobbing in a well.

There are three ways to get a cat
off a hot tin roof.

Courage can be brand of gin,
bought behind the curtain.

II.

Taxis are always waiting.
Nothing matters more than a snow sled.
A man with two broken hands can’t scratch.
Never trust a British accent.
Shirley Temple is cuter than should be legal.
Psychology is a new word.
Our machines will betray us someday.
Sometimes a cigarette holder isn’t.
Santa is the only hope.

The baby lies still on the cave's floor, on a bed of flowers and palm branches. Six days old, but his heart couldn't beat regularly, his lungs couldn't pump enough air into his frail body and he died this morning. His tiny face is as white as ivory, nearly transparent. He looks like a porcelain doll - small, so small. All around him, white candles and bowls of copal burn in the heavy air.

The cave has been dug centuries ago on the side of the hill, up over the village: a ten minutes climb in the humid night, with a man guiding us by the light of a flickering candle. The dirt road is quite steep, and after a while we don't feel the cold any more. Chanting voices waft towards us. A group of people has gathered in the cave: the baby's father sits near his head, the mother opposite him, and they sing a wailing prayer, each one answering the other with a verse. They sing in the local, ancient language called Ocotlán, but we understand some words - jiho, chiquito, mi corazón. Around them, sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor, the closest relatives. Dressed in white tunics, resting their heads against the cave's walls, their eyes closed, they follow the prayer with a low humming. On the father's knees rests the baby's sister, three years old. Her face is quiet, almost smiling, as she breathes deeply in her sleep.

It all looks like a cruel, reverse Nativity scene. And yet, what a profound peace: no crying, no shouting in despair, only this sad song, this last lullaby, wrapping the dead baby in waves of love.

A lady offers us some yellow flowers, and following her example we each kiss a flower and put it on the floor, near the baby. Then we go.

How pure, how genuine this ceremony is, I think as I follow our guide down the road. What a dignified, noble way to express their sorrow. How consoling, in its own way.

The vigil will go on all night long. At dawn the little corpse will be cremated, and the ashes will be scattered from a high rock overlooking the sea. Then the father, shaman and sculptor, will start carving his lost baby's face in a stone to be set on the cave's threshold. Other ancestors are waiting there for him - he won't be alone.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Every day, night and day, for the past five days, we’ve had rain, rain, rain, rain
and more rain. A total of thirteen inches since Monday has turned an entire state
of immaculate snowmen into an ocean of mud. I lost my eyes this morning in a
rising tide of blacker than black black sewer water flowing from an endless black
hole that’s blacker than black, and blacker than the blacker than black liquid filth
cresting the lip of the sump crock. I’m trying to figure out why the dog damned
sump pump keeps on quitting and spitting up on us. Yesterday, Laurie and I took
thirty – five bags of sewage soaked paper, cloth, and wooden memories out to the
curb. Thirty – five garbage bags that contained Jesse and Becky’s baby shoes, two
programs from the 1934 World Series autographed by Goose Goslin and Ducky
Medwick, Laurie’s wedding dress, a first edition of The Old Man And The Sea
signed by Hemingway, a blue paper lei Elvis allegedly wore during the filming
of Blue Hawaii, Barbie and Ken’s entire wardrobe, decades of joy, decades of
tears, and the tangible history of a family that no one, including the Red Legend
who’s due to arrive at midnight, can replace.

With my face still searching the sludge for my eyes, a late December mosquito
plants its flag in my left cheek. I say to my co – pilot, cheerleader, apprentice,
tricycle king, and three year old grandson, “ Nick, go get your old Oppie a roll
of tape, a hammer, and a screwdriver. I hear Nick shuffle off to Oreo. Then I
hear a metallic symphony of thuds, pings, booms, and bams. I’m mesmerized by
the song of wrenches, screwdrivers, levels, and concrete trowels falling from their
pegs. In perfect harmony with the bangs, my mind screams, “ You better be sure
the boy is ok. For Christ’s sake, what are you waiting for? “ Next, a scorching
duet composed of Laurie’s voice and Becky’s voice geysers up from the depths
of the sump crock. “ Maybe the hammer fell and broke Nick’s foot. Maybe he
cut his hand on that rusty razor wire. Maybe Nick’s skewered on a screwdriver.
Maybe he’s sipping a cup of cotton candy pink anti – freeze. Maybe you should
take your finger out of the dike and make sure he’s ok you irresponsible ass.”

When their voices fade I hear the triumphant footfalls of a tiny warrior marching
back to Bataan. I hear Patton parading through Paris. I hear fifty – thousand Yankee
fans cheering a Mickey Mantle walk off moon shot. I hear Nick coming closer. I
hear Nick’s laughter. I feel Nick’s excitement soaked words temper the damp cold
air. “ I found four hammers Oppie, four Oppie, that’s good Oppie, isn’t that good
Oppie, Oppie, can I have a donut now ? “

I look over my shoulder into the dim seventy – five watt light. Both of Nick’s hands
are Good and Plenty pink. With each step, Nick’s hands shift from bubble gum pink
to Pink Panther pink, to pink grapefruit pink, to the undisputed heavy weight champion
of pink, Polyurethane Pink Flamingo Pink. I turn my back to Nick. My eyes are still
lost in the foul puzzle flowing over the sump crock’s lip. When I turn to face him,
Nick drops four hammers on the floor. His face and voice blossom into the shape,
sound, color, and scent of pure joy. “ Oppie, I found these too where you didn’t hide
them so good.” Nick points to the sump pump’s plug that’s sagging in the wall socket.
“ Here Oppie, put some of this over there.” Nick hands me two pink eggs of Silly
Putty that he and his big brother Matthew were going to find in their stockings. The
Silly Putty cements the plug in place and the whir of the sump pump becomes the
sweetest Christmas Carol I’ve ever heard. Up in the kitchen I set two powdered sugar
donuts on a paper plate for Saint Nick. Then, as the rain changes to snow, I dial
Santa’s number and order two dozen for tomorrow morning.

Joined I, the millions to send across your fame,
And proudly shared the posts with the claim,
That, you’re the world’s most learned leader,
Placed on the top rung of the political ladder.

Young men made network busy with multiple email,
Showering you praises and blessings like a hail,
And the mass merriment in the streets added gaiety,
To the advent of their new leader; the light of the laity.

The elders said it’s the millennium prophesied,
In the Scriptures and the poor peasants sighed,
A great relief with the hope you would wield,
Your magic wand to help them raise the yield.

Our neighbours feared! You, in this new position,
Would win the world with your noble disposition,
And the foreign press predicted a boom in growth,
With bureaucracy back to bullish form from sloth.

But, like clouds in summer, dark and thick, we’ve seen,
Of late, a volte- face in your policies with unforeseen,
Taxes; an aberration from our traditions, with an urge,
To alter the basic structure, ignoring the people’s rage.

You screamed and sprang up like a sleeping cat, poked,
By a naughty boy, when The Washington Post hooked,
You with a small bait; “the underachiever”, a top title,
That turned your ego to challenge the poor with a battle.

The financial reforms focused to facilitate foreign firms,
Failed to flourish fruit in our fields and factory farms,
And faded the future of farmers, whose sweating blood,
Will form a furious fountain and flow like a flash flood.

Singh is the king! But, of the corporate syndicates,
Led by the super Singh whose planning vindicates,
The country’s move to capitalist mode, throwing,
The masses to abject misery and poverty growing.

Dude! Do not drive the destitute to dark dens of desolation,
Nor dictate their daily diets and deepen their degradation.
You bag the budget to beautify your bathroom; a venue,
To bathe and beat the battle of bulge, with our revenue.

The young chap, rich in blood but poor in the head!
Went on campaign, countrywide on our expense, led,
By an ambition to keep the poor firmly under his sole,
But failed to find in the villages, India’s real soul.

This mocker! A man of mixed breed mocks the mob,
With gimmicks from home tutors, a novice in the job,
Whom the poor once saw a savior in, lets down the youth,
Proving him a chocolate hero, with words from his mouth.

Our motherland made not by thy mother, the great madam,
Who plays a puppet show behind the scene. God dam!
Our prime minister, pulled by a petticoat, performs,
Mindless deeds, quick and serious, called ‘reforms’!

Walk down the valleys and into the villages, in plain,
And dine with the destitute for a day to feel the pain,
They take to eke out a living, under the heavy burden,
Of the new reforms, your team has made all of a sudden.

Fall not a victim to the vested interests of the west,
To welcome the wholesale witch, Wal-Mart, the pest,
That will leave lakhs of our retail vendors to perish,
On pavements with the hopes and dreams they cherish.

Bring not the relics of capitalist seeds from graveyards,
Of the west and plant in our poor peasants’ courtyards,
Just to raise the figures at the stock market and to spread,
Your reforms into countryside, denying our daily bread.

Make not our motherland, the great Gandhi envisaged,
To make a welfare state for all, that was once besieged,
By some alien forces in trading form, a banana republic,
To be controlled by a corporate consortium, in public.

Repair the rusted railing of your trailing regime and regain,
The lost glory, embracing the Gandhian values once again,
Lest the irate peasants and housewives revolt with ballots,
To uphold the pride of Bharat Matha, against your bullets.

I told her i had come in here to get enough beer
to drink myself to death.
She told me she was hard up for sex.
"I only want a man for sex that will do me." she said."
I said i was available during the day.

She asked me a few more questions and i guess she changed her mind.
She told me she had one offer already today.
"Does it really work like that, you know i am quite shy when it comes to this.
It is that simple you just ask and then you get it or not."
"It is someone at work," she said
"I don't really want that."

We talked some more as she handed out the free Christmas pud.
I said i would be up for seeing her again but she said i would see her on the tills
I guess she was not quite as desperate as she made out but i walked out with no beer
still alive.

And she is
Crying?
Is she?
And now we
Now I'll
We
Dig your fingernails into the floor
Find nothing of stability
But the click
Crunch
of nails with too much pressure
The scratch
Tear
Half moons against your palm
Oh now you want to ask?
Don't say
Things you don't mean
He doesn't
Mean
He forgot
And you forgot
And she is
She
And you aren't kissing me
Just fucking kiss me already
Why
Don't you know
He never needs to ask
Tear the tears from your throat
My throat
Her throat
But which is me
Be happy
SMILE
that he bothers
To gift you
Happy that
Anyone would stay
When most know
That you
Us
Are
dirt trash nothing
not to him
to her
to me
you
just tell me who I am
which one
and you'll believe him
won't we
But someone is screaming
And it's not me of course not
But no one is kissing me
Because you forgot
And he forgot
And she is
She is silent
She is
Laughing
I promise

I was born from paper mache pieces of Rolling Stone
wandering through the astral plane
and becoming your fears
through the cracks of a cracked society
the sizzle of ash and brain cells
and flowers of your mother’s favorite dress warp into faces of disapproval
and her perfume wafting through your subconsciousness
ancient sky Gods relinquishing power
we turn some world inside out

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Some say the world will end soon
but of course it won't
how could it.
If it did end it would mean nothing to me.
Only show me how many times
I should have done something and I never bothered.
But after a while you lose count of your regrets or mistakes.
Because they tell you nothing
you learn nothing from them
and after a while you lost.

Murdered. Her hair was black and so were her eyes.
She was murdered along the street
amid the hustle and bustle.
Hysteria when she fell
Soundlessly, I saw it unfold on the television
She had been a classmate in the past

I think I saw her die
The news went on silence
mingling movie stars and war.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

the world chaotic,
evils progress,
humanity devolves,
mental monsters,
devoid of emotion,
stalk the streets,
killing for the momentary rush,
or in punishment,
pay back by the outcast,
the innocent to pay the price.

First a rabbi spoke
then a minister
and then a priest.
Finally an imam.
They did their best
to soothe the mourners
at the memorial for
the children slaughtered
in Connecticut
even though many
in the audience
had never been
to Connecticut.
Everyone was
close to tears.
Someone gave
the microphone
to a woman
in the front row
who said she
wanted to remind
everyone that
January 22, 2013,
is the 40th Anniversary
of Roe v. Wade,
and that her clinic
would be offering
a special
throughout January
for any woman
dealing with
an unintended
pregnancy.
50% off.
Two for one
for any lady
expecting twins.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

The four horsemen flashed the lights
before techs could adjust
the white/black ratio of sky.
In this land of Chuck Mangione,
listening would seldom go easily.

A studio by the name of Music America
knelt behind a green sign with white letters:
The City of Rochester Welcomes You.
Peeling paint nodded its long-haired nod
at the whiplash-quick thrashers from the West.

Even boogaloos had to stutter-step,
cowering in the cool basement
of the 50-years-dead social club.
The drummer insisted his cymbals
rotated from the callused ghosts.

The sweater-vested man enlisted to engineer
had worked the counter at Music Lovers Shoppe,
collected sweaty bills for vinyl at retail price.
He would translate the band’s seek-and-destroy riffs
into the soundtrack of zits that couldn’t be hidden,

zits that shielded braces, speech mid-voice-change,
threadbare denim or faux leather a daily coin flip,
weed-burned fingers contorting into devil horns.
This would be a symphony for the front window,
an opus to unite the lonely at breakneck speed.

Six weeks later, the band would flee for anesthesia,
for all the gloom-free cities. The tightly gripped hammer
would give way to blood, jump in the fire midsummer
to go three times platinum, a discarded mirror
of shrugged-shouldered East Avenue clouds.

You know, said the handsome man
I thought that our friendship could develop
that we could become more than friends
but something just doesn't fit.
Don't know what it is
maybe you're too much for me
too clever, too sophisticated
too well learned, too…
Too old? said the woman.
Come on, man, say it,
stop coating the pill.
I'm too old, that's your problem.
What a pity.
You couldn't see past the façade
so you don't pass the test.
She twisted a shell on her bracelet
and stood transformed.
Taller, slimmer, tanned,
smooth oval face,
shining golden eyes.
A stunning beauty.
A bluish cloud surrounded her as she went away
hips swaying, long skirt flowing like water.
Amigo, said the waiter
bringing him a glass of mezcal,
lo siento para ti. She was Naya, the sea goddess,
but you didn't recognize her.

Sweetest slut-puppy in the whole litter
With green eyes that echo the ocean
Its depth and uncompromising loyalty
To anything that is named love or disguised as
Did I fall out of the box?
Your favorite crayon
Your favorite hue of blue-green
Waiting for you to turn me over in your hands
Until I have turned
Purple, black, red
All the colors of bruised and bleeding
I am no longer my own
You make me wonder if I ever was
I am not a chameleon
But I learn to turn shades
According to your mood swings
The heat of your palms melting
Off such naive and silly things
Like ambition, like identity
Who needs self awareness, confidence, esteem
When in the presence of a supernova
Filling the sky with your temper
Temperamental heat
Eruptions, explosions

Sculpting spine until it is fragile and brittle
Like the burnt-out wick of a candle
Or the husk of the tallest pine
That cannot bend with the wind
Only sway in place
And still your hot heavy hands
Move over me

Telephone wires cast its web to all the hungry houses. Connecting us. I know them not by name but the way they live. There’s the blue balloon always been filled with helium two houses to the left. He occasionally passes a nod to the walking wallet tip toeing on debt. Who sleeps with the gold mine at one of his other houses so the damp rag he married can absorb more fallen tears, the two houses across the street. A lonely house falling apart from heartache rots in its grave to the right. I sometimes lurk along its walls following flies. They tell me secrets. “He chops off the heads of crows and harvests them for the winter to wear them on the tips of his fingers.” Who are these people that share the same brackish street name as me? Trapped in this web.

A mirror extends in front of me, no, a mirror taunts me. I try to stay away from mirrors because they reveal the truth of my pillowy body and shatter my fantasy of normality. I pull my stringy black hair back and away from my sweaty forehead into a ponytail, fitting that I would make my hair equate to a horses ass. Puffed cheeks almost eclipse my brown eyes. A musty Polaroid depicting my cherub-like frame as a baby is stuck between glass and it’s frame. I am sitting on a too small squeaky wooden stool in front of my vanity, my mother’s mother’s empty perfume bottles and angel figurines meld into the neighbors’ mariachi music and archaic framed photos stare back. A steaming pot of dumplings reside on the stove, a broken girl resides in her own gravity.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

He always yells at me
from his office room
telling me to keep it down
he wore pajamas to work
but if you asked me his uniform
was an orange jumpsuit
and his holding cell was typed
words on a page turned vertical

He birthed these words from his mind
to the page but
I was birthed by mother
so I came second to love
hours withered like flower petals
after the stem is choked
by metal claws
when the little lights of hope
that grows in number each year
for my birthday emerged
from mother’s hand
his hands were stabbing away
at the fading keys
my wish was a twin
to the year before
but the little lights of hope
always vanished

Piano residuals unattended
bleacher seats vacate
report cards unnoticed
he probably wouldn’t
even recognize the stranger
his only daughter had involved into
he probably thought I was still four
with pigtails and crooked teeth
I was the cub of an alpha lion
who cared less
if I was here or not
like baked scraps of DNA

Life turns a somersault
on me-
A cardboard cutout in a plastic
kinetic world-
as darts dart from all directions
some striking the target right,
inconspicuously growing some
on me like grafted hurts,
some strewn on the floor,
each with an
autobiography
of its own.

Night glances in
through the creeper-draped glass
only to look away and ponder at large.

The Nishagandhi has bent
under the will of the rain
drizzling sweetness even in defeat.

Warm breaths hush the talkative bangles
but naughty anklets continue to smile and peep
Drops of water dot the cool, mud pitcher
Drops of water break into sweaty beads
Reality whispers but sleep cajoles.

Waiting for a bee to return back to me
Spring of my soul, I bloom no more
When darkness embraces my curled-up toes
a gentle need seeps through my inner whorls.

A bud in precocious bloom, a butterfly sensing doom
a moth settling for a vagrant hue
or am I the colour of a summer night
fading too soon?

Crushed jasmine buds dot a bridal bed
as a tender night falls into a scented dream.

I prayed to Buddha to fix my heart
and I'll be damned if he didn't
and they say Buddha ain't a God
but I prayed to him anyway and it worked
and when I look at my hands sitting on the table
with the sun falling on them
I think of Buddha
and when I drive through some place at night
and the neon lights are all glowing
I think of Buddha
and when I remember all the crazy things I've done--
smashing windows, petty sex crimes and the rest--
I think of Buddha
so you can worship whoever the fuck you want
but Buddha's always there for me
when I need him.

If I could comfort
by sending a happy thought
to dangle upon your window sill,
swinging itself up and down like a monkey
in the hope that you could find in it
a glimpse of something well loved,
lost to the hurrying feet of time

for a desire
to see a fleeting smile,
a slight decrease in the number of furrows
seeps into me …

as you tear yourself apart
to pull out the shining stars
that gnaw and bite your insides
and pour your love all over the table
to become a specimen
for everyone’s delight .

Work like a dog, think like a man,
Nod like a lady, fret like a child,
Expect people beyond PR,
To misunderstand (a lot).
Call shipping. Call shipping.
Read the newspaper,
Peruse dictionaries. Blow gum bubbles.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

The world has tipped over.
Humanity spills and the bucket becomes empty.

From henceforth we count nothing certain
but this:
we do good in the face of insurmountable darkness
standing on an island
that steadily shrinks
while around us the ocean of insanity brims

The saints are handcuffed
Tomorrow's killers walk free and proud
on the edge of no return. Still Germans and guns?!
The new age's god is being born
The feathered seprpent!
Lovecraft would say, I prophesied it all

by Luis Cuauhtemoc BerriozabalWhen I look at my soul in the mirror my soul never answers my questions. Its imaginary hands do not wave back. I try to look into my soul, but my soul dissolves before my eyes. However, my soul looks through me and I feel naked inside. My soul’s deadly stare gives me the creeps. I wonder if it is even my soul. I feel an immense emptiness. I go nameless and I run out of breath. I go without memory and everything falls away from me. When I look at my soul in the mirror I feel like it is the beginning of the end of my life.

In the days of Clytemnestra
The alphabet heard our prayers
And rejoiced
The elephant trees spread their wings
And flew to the hill top gardens
No one recalled longer days
Or cloudier skies
Than e
Gibberish
Raise your hand if you think I’m saying anything
Or if you think I have anything to say
Raise your hands if you believe in angels
Raise your fist
Black power spells ludicrous backwards
I’m a white guy he screamed out loud
I never killed no one
Until I met you
And danced through life
Like a five dollar bill.

I walked down to the creek
and stood in the grass
listening to the sound of the frogs
growing louder as the darkness rolled in
before I leaned over and
vomited into the weeds
I was drunk and
I felt better now
I needed another beer
I wanted to wash
the sour taste from my mouth
I walked back to the house
and pulled another bottle
from the ice-filled cooler
I sat down on the deck
I leaned my head back
and looked up at the stars
I started counting them
but there were too many and
when the others asked me
where I’d been
I told them
down by the creek
it’s a nice night I said
I leaned back again and
the feeling came over me
I wanted to float
out of my own body
but something inside me
just wouldn’t let go
I finished the beer
and reached for another one
I took a long drink
and somebody laughed

Monday, December 10, 2012

Adopted by the United Nations General Assembly 10 December 1948 at Palais de Chaillot, Paris

Preamble

Whereas recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world,

Whereas disregard and contempt for human rights have resulted in barbarous acts which have outraged the conscience of mankind, and the advent of a world in which human beings shall enjoy freedom of speech and belief and freedom from fear and want has been proclaimed as the highest aspiration of the common people,

Whereas it is essential, if man is not to be compelled to have recourse, as a last resort, to rebellion against tyranny and oppression, that human rights should be protected by the rule of law,

Whereas it is essential to promote the development of friendly relations between nations,

Whereas the peoples of the United Nations have in the Charter reaffirmed their faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person and in the equal rights of men and women and have determined to promote social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom,

Whereas Member States have pledged themselves to achieve, in co-operation with the United Nations, the promotion of universal respect for and observance of human rights and fundamental freedoms,

Whereas a common understanding of these rights and freedoms is of the greatest importance for the full realization of this pledge,

Now, Therefore THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY proclaims THIS UNIVERSAL DECLARATION OF HUMAN RIGHTS as a common standard of achievement for all peoples and all nations, to the end that every individual and every organ of society, keeping this Declaration constantly in mind, shall strive by teaching and education to promote respect for these rights and freedoms and by progressive measures, national and international, to secure their universal and effective recognition and observance, both among the peoples of Member States themselves and among the peoples of territories under their jurisdiction.

Article 1

All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.

Article 2

Everyone is entitled to all the rights and freedoms set forth in this Declaration, without distinction of any kind, such as race, colour, sex, language, religion, political or other opinion, national or social origin, property, birth or other status. Furthermore, no distinction shall be made on the basis of the political, jurisdictional or international status of the country or territory to which a person belongs, whether it be independent, trust, non-self-governing or under any other limitation of sovereignty.

Article 3

Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person.

Article 4

No one shall be held in slavery or servitude; slavery and the slave trade shall be prohibited in all their forms.

Article 5

No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.

Article 6

Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law.

Article 7

All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal protection of the law. All are entitled to equal protection against any discrimination in violation of this Declaration and against any incitement to such discrimination.

Article 8

Everyone has the right to an effective remedy by the competent national tribunals for acts violating the fundamental rights granted him by the constitution or by law.

Article 9

No one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest, detention or exile.

Article 10

Everyone is entitled in full equality to a fair and public hearing by an independent and impartial tribunal, in the determination of his rights and obligations and of any criminal charge against him.

Article 11

(1) Everyone charged with a penal offence has the right to be presumed innocent until proved guilty according to law in a public trial at which he has had all the guarantees necessary for his defence. (2) No one shall be held guilty of any penal offence on account of any act or omission which did not constitute a penal offence, under national or international law, at the time when it was committed. Nor shall a heavier penalty be imposed than the one that was applicable at the time the penal offence was committed.

Article 12

No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.

Article 13

(1) Everyone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders of each state. (2) Everyone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country.

Article 14

(1) Everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution. (2) This right may not be invoked in the case of prosecutions genuinely arising from non-political crimes or from acts contrary to the purposes and principles of the United Nations.

Article 15

(1) Everyone has the right to a nationality. (2) No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his nationality nor denied the right to change his nationality.

Article 16

(1) Men and women of full age, without any limitation due to race, nationality or religion, have the right to marry and to found a family. They are entitled to equal rights as to marriage, during marriage and at its dissolution. (2) Marriage shall be entered into only with the free and full consent of the intending spouses. (3) The family is the natural and fundamental group unit of society and is entitled to protection by society and the State.

Article 17

(1) Everyone has the right to own property alone as well as in association with others. (2) No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his property.

Article 18

Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief, and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in teaching, practice, worship and observance.

Article 19

Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.

Article 20

(1) Everyone has the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and association. (2) No one may be compelled to belong to an association.

Article 21

(1) Everyone has the right to take part in the government of his country, directly or through freely chosen representatives. (2) Everyone has the right of equal access to public service in his country. (3) The will of the people shall be the basis of the authority of government; this will shall be expressed in periodic and genuine elections which shall be by universal and equal suffrage and shall be held by secret vote or by equivalent free voting procedures.

Article 22

Everyone, as a member of society, has the right to social security and is entitled to realization, through national effort and international co-operation and in accordance with the organization and resources of each State, of the economic, social and cultural rights indispensable for his dignity and the free development of his personality.

Article 23

(1) Everyone has the right to work, to free choice of employment, to just and favourable conditions of work and to protection against unemployment. (2) Everyone, without any discrimination, has the right to equal pay for equal work. (3) Everyone who works has the right to just and favourable remuneration ensuring for himself and his family an existence worthy of human dignity, and supplemented, if necessary, by other means of social protection. (4) Everyone has the right to form and to join trade unions for the protection of his interests.

Article 24

Everyone has the right to rest and leisure, including reasonable limitation of working hours and periodic holidays with pay.

Article 25

(1) Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and of his family, including food, clothing, housing and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age or other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond his control. (2) Motherhood and childhood are entitled to special care and assistance. All children, whether born in or out of wedlock, shall enjoy the same social protection.

Article 26

(1) Everyone has the right to education. Education shall be free, at least in the elementary and fundamental stages. Elementary education shall be compulsory. Technical and professional education shall be made generally available and higher education shall be equally accessible to all on the basis of merit. (2) Education shall be directed to the full development of the human personality and to the strengthening of respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms. It shall promote understanding, tolerance and friendship among all nations, racial or religious groups, and shall further the activities of the United Nations for the maintenance of peace. (3) Parents have a prior right to choose the kind of education that shall be given to their children.

Article 27

(1) Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits. (2) Everyone has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests resulting from any scientific, literary or artistic production of which he is the author.

Article 28

Everyone is entitled to a social and international order in which the rights and freedoms set forth in this Declaration can be fully realized.

Article 29

(1) Everyone has duties to the community in which alone the free and full development of his personality is possible. (2) In the exercise of his rights and freedoms, everyone shall be subject only to such limitations as are determined by law solely for the purpose of securing due recognition and respect for the rights and freedoms of others and of meeting the just requirements of morality, public order and the general welfare in a democratic society. (3) These rights and freedoms may in no case be exercised contrary to the purposes and principles of the United Nations.

Article 30

Nothing in this Declaration may be interpreted as implying for any State, group or person any right to engage in any activity or to perform any act aimed at the destruction of any of the rights and freedoms set forth herein.

I listen with open arms
Baited breath
Inhaling you
Into my lungs
I grate fences like cheese
Mushrooms run from my visage
Be careful or you could end up like a chimney at noon
But put your fear in your hat
And pull it down on your earlobe
before kidney patches don’t recognize you any more

I know you so well your smell smells of home
Familiarity
Breeding
When colors return and you flash your calfs and tease with your thighs exposed
I’ll be in the dory
By the river
Alone
Counting my fingers
And the hairs on my head
Rounding to the nearest hundred

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Narrow- mindedness
Revels in cruelty
Terror’s offspring
Chop the palm of dissent
Re-enacting the barbarity
Of the Middle Ages
Checking all progress
And freedom of thought
Not the followers of God
But, of Devil
Eight of them surround
A helpless deer
Tear the limbs apart
Like the feathers of a bird
Relishing wolfish cruelty
Celebrating savagery
Bathing in human blood
Wisdom never dawns on them
They need a world so ugly
Like their terror outfit
Instilling communal venom
Teaching irrational things
Their flocks, a retarded lot
They label everything heretic
As moral police sometimes feign
Attack women in public places
Mislead folks and distort facts
Many a Malala suffer from this
Thus the great Indian Taliban is sprouting up
They strive to create a Terror Republic
Swear to rewrite secular history
With a lot of flamboyance
Freedom Parades are going on
Want to weaken Muslim League
That leads the youth in peaceful ways
Never cultivate tolerance
To them, faith is the world
Like the frogs in the well
They pounce upon,and demolish
Age old statues
Smash TV sets and computers
Like Don Quixote reborn
They are scared of
Broad daylight
Pretend they can safeguard faith
Unleashing reign of terror
But actually cowards
Who fled for life
Many a time
Leaving the community
In the lurch

Let us shed the dry crust of religion
Outdated laws and customs
And let the good values reign
It is wise to know
That rashness is a folly
Prudence, not a bad thing
Stirring up communal passion-
A wicked thing, most primitive.

I keep repeating myself and
I keep using the same words
over and over again
but every time I say them
I try to say them
in a different way and
I keep repeating myself
I keep wondering why
I never learn from my mistakes and
I keep repeating myself
I keep repeating myself and
night after night
I have the same dreams
I keep doing the same things
over and over again
I keep repeating myself
I keep repeating myself and
every time I touch her
she feels like somebody else and
I keep repeating myself
I keep repeating myself and
every time she looks at me
she wants to know my name

It is so old-school it is almost extinct
(it has a couple of new-school versions),
yet
it is unstoppable without fouling:

catch the ball on the block
angle
your body properly to the basket
(the defender at your back)
lift one side's arm and leg in one motion
and
s w e e p
the arm protected by your body
kiss the ball in off the backboard,
or
drop it directly in the basket

By "See the Submission Guidelines" the editor means Go read them. Most of the time.

Disclaimer

The Camel Saloon reserves the right to bestow preferential treatment upon any patron who includes with a submission his or her or a friend's original photography of the city, farm, forest or other locale portraying the place where the contributor lives, works, plays or wanders.

Please include the specific location of the scene and the name of the photographim or the photographer.